


Down From the Mountain

by rivlee



Series: Shifter 'verse [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Gen, Shifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how any pack should find a new home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down From the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel ficlet for _The Skies I'm Under_. Thanks to gaygreekgladiator for her beta work. Any remaining mistakes are completely my own.

Winter was a temperamental villain this close to the waters of the north. They were far out of their clan’s territory and a world away from their familiar borders as they sought shelter in caves and sacred groves. Agron kept vigil over Duro, who was injured and stuck in his wolf form, as they limped along in search of sanctuary. Donar, Totus, and Saxa were the only ones to stand guard with him. Combined they were all that remained over the formerly thriving wolf pack. 

A war had come to their home, brought there by the very people sworn to protect it. Sedullus had allowed the Eagles inside their lands. The man’s greedy soul was easily bought by the allure of power as he offered up the wolves for slaughter. Agron had heard the rumors of the Eagles buying up shifters, especially those who could easily maintain human and animal forms, but he never thought they would truly come for his pack. Hindsight was a whole bush of brambles on Agron’s ass and a bitter taste in his mouth.

The Eagles were purely human. All the histories claimed it was a condition brought on by their own stubbornness. They bred the animals out of their lines and condemned those who turned from two legs into four, or from arm into wing, to exile. Since the Eagles’ rise to power, all shifters repeated the same warnings to their young: stay safe, stay hidden, stay human, or the Eagles snatched you up.

No one ever told them what to do if a relative attempted to sell you for land and gold. So Agron had done the only thing possible; he had drawn Sedullus out for a fight, killed him near the cliffs of the water bed, and left his body to rot as he took Sedullus’ head. There would be no re-formation of body or return of Sedullus’ life, be it as wolf or man with his skull gone. For the strongest of their kind, life could be maintained if they gave up one of their sides. To be so injured and live as wolf meant to become that animal forever. If death came by beheading, such an option became impossible. Agron took all measures to make Sedullus’ end a full, fatal death. 

Saxa had been the one to strip the flesh, meat, and tendons from the skull. She proudly carried it on her back and let the sun start its natural bleaching, as Agron carried Duro, and Donar watched over them all. They’d probably never recover Sedullus’ pelt, but he had those of his parents, stitched together like a blanket, worn as a cloak for the highest ranking member of the pack. It should have told him everything when Sedullus refused to shoulder the weight of his mother and father. 

“We can’t stay here,” Duro gasped, drawing Agron from his memories.

Agron whirled around surprised to see his brother in human form. Duro keened as he tried to pull his naked limbs in on himself, curling up for warmth as a wolf would. “Agron, the bears of this cave have not yet gone into hibernation. They will come for us. We cannot stay here.”

“You’re losing sense as you’re losing blood,” Agron huffed. He pulled the heavy blue cloak off his arm and draped it around Duro. “Donar and Totus are looking for shelter.”

“I will be dead before they return,” Duro spat out through his clenched jaw. “Either leave me here to die or take both of us out there. If I had a choice, I would rather breathe my last under the trees than with the taste of bear shit on my tongue.”

Agron wanted to argue, but if these were the last words his brother ever spoke to him, they would not be in disagreement. “I believe I saw a grove not far from here, with large boughs on its tree limbs. Perhaps we will find more pleasing warmth around the bases of their trunks.”

“Anything other than this,” Duro said with a harsh laugh. “It’s rancid in here, brother. How can you stand it?”

“I do not scent it with the wolf’s nose. I know better than that,” Agron teased.

Duro growled low, stopping short as he bit off a groan of pain. “Agron,” he whined.

Agron kneeled and cupped the back of Duro’s neck. He leaned forward, let their foreheads touch, and shared a bit of his strength. All leaders could share such with their pack members, but Agron and Duro’s connection went far beyond the typical. It wasn’t a common thing for two unmated wolves to have a bond that went deep. Donar claimed it was destined from birth since Agron and Duro were littermates, born under a waxing moon on the longest night of the year. Agron’s place as pack leader had only made their strong, strange bond more powerful.

“I suppose we should get you up,” Agron murmured.

“I have it,” Saxa said, emerging snow-covered from the mouth of the cave. “You’ve carried him for days. He is not a significant weight even as a man. I will not buckle under him as we go down the mountain. Donar can drag his sorry hind the rest of the way.”

“That’s our Saxa,” Duro said. 

She threw a pack of clothes in his direction with a dark smile. “Save your energy for healing, and not another round of your supposedly witty barbs.”

Duro nodded, eyes shining in gratitude, as he remained silent and allowed them to dress him. They didn’t bother with the shoes; Duro would not be strong enough to walk for days, if ever again.

“Do not dwell and mourn for what has not happened,” Duro admonished Agron as he settled himself in Saxa’s arms. “I’m a heartier wolf than I look.”

“I’ve seen newborn cubs heartier than you,” Saxa disagreed.

Agron admired and envied her ability to be so easy about Duro’s wound, even now when they could see the ashen color of his skin and the pained lines around his face. Saxa was a wolf who believed in celebrating life until the very end. She did not brood as Agron did, and it was a good thing to have her with them now. He smiled as he looked at her hip where the skull dangled on a rope. 

“What would we do without you, Saxa?”

“Starve and drown in the river as you tried to catch fish with your paws. You are not bears,” she said.

“That was one time,” Duro mumbled. 

They kept a steady pace to the grove, Donar and Totus finding them soon after they set out. Donar had a few rabbits for dinner, and had scrounged what herbs he could find to aid Duro, while Totus carried filled water skins. Agron was grateful for their work, but unless they could find a verity bush and its leaves to stop the bleeding, it would all be in vain. At least the rabbit gut would be helpful once it dried. It would sew up Duro’s wound nicely. Blood still seeped through his current stitches due both to shoddy work and a quick mend. 

They all paused when the path suddenly seemed to clear before them. Agron looked to find the ground wavering between snow covered and a lush green. 

“Either we’ve all gone mad or we’ve found a forest sanctuary,” Donar said. “Well, mad _er_ ,” he corrected.

“I said to go for the trees,” Duro muttered. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. “I smell verity.” He tugged on Saxa’s cloak and only stopped when she growled at him. “Towards the east,” he directed. 

Saxa grumbled, yet did as he ordered. Their laughter carried on the swirling winter winds, and Agron found them soothing in place of the earlier biting cold.

“He grows stronger now that we’ve found sanctuary,” Donar observed. “I think you may be our leader, but he has found our pack home.”

Agron nodded as he watched them go. “He always was the best of me.”


End file.
